


The Road To Being Okay

by WaterHorseyBlues



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Being Lost, Best Friends, Bonding, British, British Comedy, British English, Camping, Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Depression, Diary/Journal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Everyone Needs A Hug, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Funny, Healing, Implied Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mistakes, Recovery, References to Depression, Road Trips, Sad, Sharing a Bed, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-10-02 09:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17262020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterHorseyBlues/pseuds/WaterHorseyBlues
Summary: All Phil wanted was for Dan to be okay.[minor haitus]





	1. Listening to the Disorder of your Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting." - The Once and Future King by T.H. White

Muggy, stage air sludged around the bedroom, taking dust along it's slow journey. It hovered down, thick and listless, through the darkness until it settled in crumpled, warm sheets. The only disruption in its endless cycle came from the deep huffing breaths as Daniel Howell lay, staring at the ceiling, gaze dull and mouth slightly hung open.

Time did not exist here.

He'd just begun to wonder if this was what being dead was like, when the door cracked open. A shaft of light cut across hi face and he groaned.

“Uh, Dan? You alive?”  
He groaned louder.

“That's a yes. Are you okay? You haven't come out in days.”  
Grunt.

“You should get some fresh air. I'll open the window.”

Dan barely had time to grumble and gripe about this, not quite human enough to articulate enough to argue, before Phil had strode across the room and ripped the curtains over. He practically hissed like some sort of TV monster as the sunlight washed over him. He rolled over quickly, burying himself in bedsheets.

Phil unlatched the window and cracked it open, letting in a rush of clean air. “There we go!”

Dan dug himself deeper into the sheets, protecting himself from the light chill that invaded his stuffy warmth. He was reacclimatising to the suffocating smell of unwashed bedding and unfiltered air when Phil dropped down on the bed beside him, weight making the mattress bounce. He shifted a leg to kick him, thoroughly disgruntled. In response, Phil pulled the sheet back and exposed him to the elements.

“Ugh, fuck's sake!” He scrabbled at the sheets, trying to yank it back over his head.

“No, you need the air! You can't lie around like this, it's bad for you.” Phil gripped the sheets, keeping Dan from pulling them back.

“Ugh, fine.” Dan flopped back in defeat, frowning.

“You should get up.”

“Disgusting.”

Phil sighed heavily and stood, then brushed all the fabric lint off his jeans. “Come out of your room. I'll put the kettle on.” He left, carefully stepping over some dirty clothes on the floor.

Dan didn't respond, instead stared at the ceiling.

 

It had been nearly a week of bedridden exhaustion, and over a month of steadily increasing listlessness, that had Phil worried. He'd thought it was to do with a work overload, or finally finishing their most recent big project, but it seemed to be running deeper than that. The tuth of it was, Dan Howell was just not good at managing his depression all the time.

Which was OK – given it was hardly his fault. But it was still a concern.

Phil clicked on another link describing a number of self-help options for depressives and ways to get over downward spirals. Most of them seemed to describe going outside (not really either of their sort of thing), lots of activity (similarly) and exercise (the devils word). He pushed his knuckles to his mouth as he looked, tapping his trackpad as he tried to think of some way to kickstart Dan's mental health back into a better place.

The tour had been good. All that adventure, the excitement, the sights... Something long-running and habit-forming like that would be good. Something motivating. Something that felt new and difficult to give up on.

He thought about how contented Dan had been on the bus.

An idea began to form in his head.

 

“Dan! Pack your things!” He announced one morning, his own belongings already securely stuffed into a soft bag.

Dan looked up at him from over a bowl of cereal. “What.”

“We're going on a road trip!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short first chapter I know, but I just wanted to get this started. This is going to be a heck of a ride.


	2. We Call a Man Cold When He is Only Sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”   
> ― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The car was clearly not designed to have all their stuff thrown into the boot, and it had been so long since Phil had last been behind the wheel that the weight was causing him visible distress. When he first started the car it shuddered and coughed, stalled, then stopped.

Phil laughed nervously, then turned the key again with more force, pushing his foot down and forcing it into life. Dan watched him with a flat expression the whole time. Eventually it settled into a consistent rumble and Phil let out a small whoop of victory.

“Wow. Really kicking the road trip off to a great start there, Phil.”

“Hey! We're not even off the drive yet! This doesn't count.”

“Oh my God, we're not even off the drive yet.” Dan sank down in the passenger seat, eyes falling shut as though shielding himself from the troubles of the real world. The ominous sense of foreboding settled itself into his bones like a weight – though a little voice in his brain reasoned that it could easily just be the depression. He'd long stopped trying to make distinctions between every negative thought that passed though him and instead just accepted his horrible fate.

Phil took a deep breath through his nose and pulled the car out onto the road, deciding to leave Dan to his dramaticisms. He had to focus on the road, or they would probably die. In hindsight, he realised he should have practised a bit more before attempting to drive them out the city.

They immediately hit traffic before they were even out of the post code. Phil adjusted his grip on the wheel, fingers stretching. Dan had sunk so low in his seat that he was practically falling out of his seatbelts.

“Let's have some music.” Phil reached over to turn the radio on, fingers fumbling to find a good channel. Some charts music started to play and he hummed along, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

Dan rolled his eyes a little, but straightened up, somewhat mollified by the upbeat music to distract him.

As though blessed by the summer beats, the traffic moved and they escaped the commuter grind out onto the motorways to clean sailing. The urban sprawl dissolved like boulders to sand into green fields. Dan gazed out the window, his usual distaste for the outdoors temporarily at ease.

“Horse.”

Phil glanced aside quickly, just catching a blur of a horse. “Awh, I missed it.”

“There was a black one. It was like my soul.”

Phil gasped a little. “Or like Black Beauty.”

Dan scrunched his face up, pained by the words. “Agh, Phil, why would you bring that film up? It's so sad.”

“Sorry. But it's the first thing I think of with black horses!”

“God, Phil, now I'm even more depressed.”

“Think about nice horse things, like... My Little Pony!”

“...My Little Pony?”

“I drew a blank, okay.”

Before Dan could make another dry remark, the car started making alert sounds. They both looked down to the dashboard where the dial was turned definitively towards an emptying tank.

“Um, Phil, how much petrol did you put in the car before we left?”

“Uh. I did't.”

“So it's literally been running on the leftovers from the last time I drove it?”

“...Yes.”

“For God's sake.” Dan slowly put his palms to his face,

“It's okay! Look,we're not far from a services!” Phil pointed at a sign indicating a nearing petrol station with facilities. He turned sharply down the slip road and parked up by a pump.

“Phil.”

“Yes?”

“Is this it?”

Phil looked over to the building ahead. It was about the size of a corner shop. “I guess.”

“We have to buy, like, actual dinner from here. You realise that, right?”

“We'll be fine. I think.”

They ended up with a small, greasy, microwave heated pasty each and cold pasta pots. Phil moved the car to a parking spot and they ate without exchanging words while the radio played. Somehow the charts music just seemed to be mocking them now.

“Hey, we've covered a lot of ground though! Let's just get back on the road!” Phil said, forcing a tone of cheerfulness.

Dan grunted in response.

He brought the car back out onto the motorway, grip greasy and the car smelling uncomfortably like oily food.

They drove on, occasionally passing a little village or a farm full of animals. Dan tapped away on his phone, no longer interested.

At some point, Dan reached for the table to plug his phone in the car to charge. He stared at his phone, then wiggled the cable.

“Oh for- Phil.”

“Yeah?”

“This is the broken cable.”  
“What?” He looked over quickly.

Dan held it up, showing the sharp bend in the wire. “It's the bust up one.”

“Oh.. Oh no.”

“I'm on like ten percent.”

Phil rummaged for his own phone and glanced at it. He was only at twenty three. “Uh. Okay. I guess we'll have to stop somewhere and buy a charger.”

Dan sighed and scowled out the window. “The sun's setting.”  
“Okay, we'll just find somewhere to stay the night then. We can charge our phones over night.”

Dan sighed and didn't respond. Phil took it as an affirmative and turned towards the nearest small town.

They arrived at a bed and breakfast with a new charger. It was small, a little smelly, and the room they ended up sharing was alarmingly cramped. Dan made no effort to talk to Phil as he put himself immediately to bed and scrolled on his phone. Phil lay awake and stared at the ceiling, silently calling out to the powers that be for some sort of mercy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally updated! Sorry, I've been busy. I hope this will be weekly.


	3. Like Water In a Glass That Is Unsteady and Too Full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full. ― Sylvia Plath

“Okay, so there's actually this really cool landmark nearby,” Phil told Dan cheerfully over stale cereal and slightly warm milk at breakfast.

“Oh great. More outdoors. Sounds delightful.” Dan chewed his cold toast and briefly considered vlogging this whole disaster just to get something worthwhile from it. But then he'd have to actually edit it. And it would probably be really boring, since he couldn't actually be bothered to be entertaining.

“It will be! Look, it's this cool ruins of some old cathedral. That's awesome! That's like, aesthetically apocalyptic. We could buy lunch and have a picnic!”

“Wow, Phil, and maybe we could catch bird flu from some country pigeon and die in a field!”

Phil huffed and dropped his phone down, stabbing a wheat-loop (not a Cheerio) with his spoon as if it would do anything.

Dan felt a twinge of guilt. Okay, he was admittedly being a bit of a dick now. What else would they do in this weird little place? At least it was an excuse to make the most of a ridiculous, pointless situation. He sighed. “Alright, okay, let's go to the ruins. But you have to pay for our picnic.”

Phil was visibly cheered again.

 

“Phil.”

“What?”

“Phil come here.”

Phil squeezed his way through the crammed corner shop, holding his sandwiches up above the aisles for their safety, as he made his way towards Dan. “What?”

“They're selling penny sweets.” Dan had crouched down by a pick&mix where, as he had said, a little paper sign read that each sweet was 1p.

“No way. No. Way. Oh my God. Dan, Dan you have to just take so many.”

“We can't just-”

“Dan I have a whole two pound coin. Just go nuts.”

Dan snorted, hunched shoulders shaking a bit. “Wow, you really know how to treat a guy.”

“Yeah. Treat with a sweet.”  
“Shut up.” He took a paper cup and began to fill it. “But we can't just eat sweets.”

“No, they'll be car sweets too. Get as many as you can fit.”

Dan did as he was told while Phil grabbed a few packets of Monster Munch.

 

Rain didn't so much fall as it plummeted down on them. They huddled together, barely sheltered by the broken remains of the impressive cathedral ruins, shivering. Neither had taken their good coats out of the car when they set out that day. Both of their jumpers were soaked through, their shoes coated to the laces in mud.

Phil wasn't sure why he hadn't seen this coming. It was hardly like it had been the Egyptian sun that morning. Though the rain was usually less intense than this. He blamed the picnic for cursing them.

He bit into his sad, soggy sandwich. They weren't going anywhere any time soon.

Dan picked seeds out of the bread on his, apparently no longer in the mood to eat.

They waited for the rain to pass without exchanging words.

It lashed down on them in relentless waves for some time, rattling against the cathedral walls like a battalion attacking. One thing that had bee different about moving south, Phil had always noted, was that the rain was less intense around London. Now it seemed he was having his attitude challenged.

It passed after some time, or at least turned into the gross misty rain that ruined hair and got under clothes. If Dan's hair had been curly to start with, it was full-blown Frodo Baggins hobbit hair now.

They rushed into the nearest building, which turned out to be a sort-of tat shop. It mostly sold the generic English crap – football team mascot bears, flag magnets, very ugly statues of the queen – but also seemed to have a few specialist items for the local area. Little statues of the cathedral lined a shelf, along with painted thimbles and magnets and badges. Phil picked up a rather handsome enamel pin, deciding it would make a good mememnto.

“Hey, Dan, are you going to get anything?” He glanced over to watch the other poke disinterestedly around the shop.

“You wanna buy me a new jacket?” Dan pulled the sleeve of a rather hideous England Rugby hoodie.

“Would you wear it?”

“Not even ironically.” Dan let it go. “Nah. I'm good.”

“I'll just get this then and we can, uh, go somewhere else I guess.”

“Don't tell me there's another ruin to stand in.”

“Nah. I'm pretty sure we're done here.”

They ended up in a greasy local pub, wringing their jackets out on the doorstep before hanging them on the back of their chairs near the closest radiator. The table was sticky with years of spilled drinks, the beer mats fused to the surface.

They drank in silence, neither awkward nor particularly comfortable. It was far too early to consider dinner, and at this point Phil was pretty sure sticking around any longer would just cause things to get worse. At least a decent drink seemed to have put Dan in a slightly better mood, and the atmosphere was warm and comfortable, if a bit dingy.

The rain steadily dried up.

 


	4. Not Saying Anything Because I'm Afraid I'll Stutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I waste at least an hour every day lying in bed. Then I waste time pacing. I waste time thinking. I waste time being quiet and not saying anything because I'm afraid I'll stutter.”  
> ― Ned Vizzini

There was one last walk through the measly main street, as though some great attraction would spring up from the ground like a beanstalk and bring all the magic and delight that Phil had hoped the road trip would bring. Instead it remained as it had been on arrival – quaint in a dull, underfunded countryside way, and mostly boring. Phil tried to imagine it looking sweet and pretty under the summer sun, with the cathedral remains standing tall and proud like the ancient piece of history it surely was, much like the way the postcards in the shops seemed to portray it. Instead it hard to see anything other than a soggy village with a busted up building on a hill. With a resigned wave at the general surroundings he climbed into the car where Dan had already folded himself into the narrow passenger seat.

“Who were you waving at?”

“The place.”

“What, just to the houses?”

“Well, the whole place. All of it.”

“You're such a weirdo,” Dan muttered under his breath, plugging the new wire into the car then into his phone.

Phil let the comment bounce off him. It was part of their regular banter, and he knew it to be mostly meaningless. It was, as it had been put, _consensual banter_. It wasn't like he didn't dish it back when the time came. He couldn't help but feel this one came a little more bitterly than usual, though.

“There's no signal.”

He glanced over to see Dan scowling at his phone. The app game he'd loaded up to play was displaying an eternal loading screen, occasionally showing a 'cannot connect to server' popup. Phil glanced at his own phone and found the same thing – no data signal at all.

“Well. I guess we have to wait until we're back onto a main road then.”

Dan slumped in his chair, over-dramatically playing the part of a dying man. “Just kill me now.”

Phil made a complicated manoeuvre to lift his foot out of his footwell, over the gearstick, and into Dan's footwell where he kicked his shin. “Hey. None of that.”

Dan made a wailing noise that was akin to a bagpipes being dropped.

“No more making death jokes. It's a bad coping mechanism.”

“Ugh, you're not my therapist.” This took the same tone as 'you're not my real dad' jokes.

“How do you know? Maybe I'm your therapist in disguise.”

Dan shorted a laugh. Phil smiled inwardly, glad to see the messing around was working.

“Come on, say what you actually mean.”

“I don't really want to die, I just want something to distract me from the tedious car journey,” the younger finally relented in a monotonous voice.

“Thank you.” Phil awkwardly pulled his leg back where it belonged. “And I might actually have something to help you with that.”

“You brought the switch?” Dan perked up a bit.

“No.”

He slumped down once more.

“I got you a present.”

This caught Dan's interest, and he craned his neck to watch Phil reach into the backseat and pat down his coat pockets until he produced a little brown paper bag.

“It's not a huge thing, I just thought it would be good for you.”

Curious, he upturned the bag into his palm. Out slid a small black diary, about A6 in size with rounded corners and a silver spine. A black ribbon poked out the bottom like a forked tongue. “I mean, it's nice, Phil, but I have notebooks.”

“Yeah, I know. But this one is specifically for this road trip. I figured you could write about it and get out all your feelings onto the paper, and then at the end you have a little story about what we got up to. I even made sure not to buy you one that was too fancy, because otherwise you wouldn't want to use it.”

He managed to contain his shame at being so easily read. All of his notebooks back at the flat remained unused, waiting for 'the right thing' to be put in them. The modest little notebook was hardly demanding of great ideas or adventure. It was the sort of thing people kept phone numbers or notes in, but just sleek enough not to look like it was kept in a glove box. “Thanks. It's nice. I don't think I'll get any great adventure story to put in it the way we're going.”

Phil shrugged. “It's still good. I hear keeping a diary is good for monitoring your moods and helping you contextualise your experiences, and help you process your situation better.”

“Oh, so this is your attempt at being my therapist again?”

“I'm not your therapist! Or am I?” Phil wiggled his fingers spookily.

It was Dan's turn to make the awkward acrobatics to kick Phil's knee. “Shut up and get us out of here.”

“Ow! Fine. But get writing, you're already a day behind!”

 

> _Hello Diary,_
> 
> _Phil bought you for me, and now you're forced to hear all my thoughts._
> 
> _It is day two of our impromptu road trip. So far I have been dragged out to the middle of nowhere to eat soggy food and stare at a soggy old church while getting soggy in the rain. I think I still have bits of pub table stuck to my sleeve._
> 
> _Think the lady at the b &b was suspicious of us. Not used to country folk._

 

He gave the page some thought before adding a few awkward doodles and decorations around his entry, hoping it would look more like the aesthetically pleasing bullet journals he'd seen on instagram. He didn't have much success, unfortunately, as he wasn't nearly as artistically inclined as he'd like to be. He decided minimalism would be the way forward in future entries.

 

Despite the strange feeling of optimism that had come from leaving the village, the curse of British weather did not relent. Within ten minutes of being on the road the rain began to lash against the windscreen, creating a blurry wall over their vision no matter how fast the creaky windscreen wipers tried to clear it. The traffic had slowed to an effective halt as the weather conditions worsened, the wind battering at the side of cars and lorries, making everyone slow their wheels for fear of sliding out of control.

The ensuing traffic jam left them at such a standstill that Phil turned the car off to save petrol.

They sat in uncomfortable silence as rain beat down on the car frame and wind rocked them like the a raft on the sea. Phil attempted to play some music on his phone as distraction, but it was drowned out by the howling storm and nervous rumble of cars around them.

They made a feeble attempt at dog-spotting, but it was far too grey outside to make out anything through car windows.

Even their phones were unhappy with the sheer density of active cloud, their signals dropping in and out an the data too slow to load anything worth doing.

Dan opened his notebook and drew a large raincloud with a frowning face beneath it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry I missed a week, it's getting hard to keep up  
> 


	5. It's Impossible to Ever See the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end.  
> ― Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

The rain got steadily more torrential until the two men were essentially trapped inside a roaring metal sound box while the world outside disappeared behind the grey watery curtain. The music playing off Dan's phone into the car radio made a feeble attempt at being heard over the absolute din the weather was making, the singer's voice totally drowned out. Phil was only thankful that it filled the heavy silence between him and Dan, cutting off any possible complaints. He was also pretty sure Dan had started grinding his teeth together in irritation, judging by the tension in his jaw.

The traffic had finally started to clear and they were moving on the motorway. They'd lost a good hour to sitting still and making absolutely no distance and the sun had begun to set low in the sky, the street lights slowly coming alive like wet, fuzzy moons hanging over the street. Cars slid by with their lights on, brief suns that lit the two like a photo flash.

The queue of cars they were in began to move once more, and as Phil went to pull forward the car stalled and made an alarming sound and stalled, then shut off.

Dan looked over as Phil stared blankly at the dashboard. The petrol meter indicated an empty tank.

“What.” Dan's voice was flat, but sharp.

“Um. I forgot to fill up before we left.”

Phil didn't even look over. He could feel Dan's eyes boring into his skull.

“It's okay. I'll just pull us over.” He gave the keys a turn and silently begged the car to start. It made a few pathetic coughs before the engine rumbled to life. He stuck on the hazards quickly and pulled into the hard shoulder.

The car was practically running on fumes and gas at this point, and blinked angry lights indicating the low fuel. Phil took his phone out to search the closest petrol station – no luck. The closest services was well outside what the measly drips of fuel were capable of.

“This is fine,” he said, to indicate that things were not fine.

“Oh God.” Dan sank into the footwell.

“No, no, I've got this. I'll call the AA.”

“Are you going to do that without messing it up?”

Phil frowned, but quickly made mental notes of what to say so he didn't mess it up. It ended up being a fairly quick phone call wherein he managed to just remember all the information he needed. The real issue was the period after it.

They sat in stiff silence. With the car radio now dead, there was nothing for them to listen to for distraction. Dan tapped at his phone seemingly at random, given the 4G signal was still weak. Phil didn't have the leisure of feigning pasttimes, having to keep his phone ready for a call back, and eyes peeled for the truck.

It was about half an hour of awkward, painful waiting in the drum orchestra of rain.

“I spy-” Phil began half-heartedly before Dan cut him off with a, “Don't.”

Eventually the familiar yellow tow truck pulled over to them. It was a soaking experience of talking to the drivers, getting the car attached to the tow, then hopping in the back to be taken to the nearest services.

It was late, dark and very heavily storming by the time they arrived. Lightning crackled somewhere in the grey cloudy haze. The car was soon sorted, but with both of them sheltered in the doorway of the services staring out at the rain, neither felt the need to be back on the road.

“There's a Premier,” Dan noted, nodding to the little overnight positioned just next to the services.

Phil hadn't really intended to put a side-of-the-motorway hotel in the journey, but it was starting to look like if they were going to salvage this road trip at all it would include some compromise. They rushed over to its front doors as fast as possible, looking like drowned rats as they stepped in through the doors.

The room was far more expensive than Phil had budgeted for, and Dan allowed him to shell out the uncomfortable amount of money without offering to split the cost. It made sense, given the younger hadn't intended to be out in the first place, and Phil had planned badly.

With another horrifying rush to the parked car to retrieve their belongings, they were soon indoors for the night.

They headed into the room and were relieved to find it pleasant, warm and comfortable. Dan immediately took the shower to wash off the cold water and warm up. Phil took the time to peel himself from his wet clothes and change into his pyjamas. They'd ended p with a double bed, but neither had the energy to make any complaints, nor did they really mind much. It was hardly like they hadn't shared before.

He put his phone on charge and settled into the bed, deciding that his best course of action was just to sleep off the trauma.

By the time Dan came out of the shower, Phil was out cold for the night. He put his phone on charge and dried off, then dressed. Before he crawled into the bed, he opened the diary and finished his entry for the day.

 

_Car broke down. No idea where we are. Phil covered all costs and hotel room._

_Got to thank him later when I'm not cranky._

_Bed time now._

 

He followed it up with a crude doodle of the hotel logo, then hated himself for it. That was there forever now.

Maybe he could buy a sticker to cover it. Stickers were probably a good idea.

He settled down to sleep.

 


	6. Sour Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.  
> ― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

They woke in an uncomfortable tangle of too-long limbs and over-warm sheets. Clearly the heating had been turned up in the building to combat the cold outdoors, but the tiny aircon unit hadn't rescued them from the sticky humidity. They peeled apart and had a small shove fight for the shower before Dan won and Phil lay on the floor in defeat until he was finally granted bathroom access. They dressed and checked out of the hotel, knowing it was cheaper to buy food at the services than pay for hotel breakfast.

Dan insisted on paying, even though it was only McDonalds, and treated them both to pancakes alongside their breakfast muffins. It wasn't the healthiest breakfast, but neither cared as they dug in, occasionally stopping to sip their drinks or wipe sauce from their faces. Though no words were exchanged, Phil felt that he'd been forgiven for the mistakes of the previous night.

They took their few belongings back to the car – now filled up with petrol and checked for anything else that might cause a problem – then settled back in one more for the road trip.

 

Though it was another long drive, the weather had improved and now only a light drizzle wet the windscreen for a few minutes at a time. With the music turned up, they comfortably jammed along as the hours fell away. The road trip was starting to pick up.

That was, until they reached their destination. The weather had turned into a monotonous grey drizzle, it's only saviour being the low wind. What may have once been mighty and impressive Roman walls were reduced to damp grey crumbling stone.

“We're here!” Phil called as they parked in a muddy car park, as though it were the perfect day for sightseeing and exploring.

“Is that a good thing?” Dan asked, squinting out the window

“Yes! Come on, let's go. This is a historic town, there's going to be loads of cool stuff!” He emphasised the words 'historic town' as though he were talking about a theme park.

Had it been a sunnier day, Dan might have shared the enthusiasm. Given the constant drizzle he was seriously missing his bed back home. “Fine.”

Phil dragged him out of the car and into the town centre. “Okay, so there's a bunch to see. There's houses of famous writers, a castle, this old chapel that's supposed to be haunted, a famous pub, three museums, a...”

Dan stopped listening as Phil listed off the various tourist spots. His face was wet. The rain was steadily soaking through his jacket hood. He wondered if this was what it was like being a pet dog who didn't know or care what things were as long as there was food and toys. He figured a dog would be happier with the muddy puddles than he was.

“...So I think we should go there first.” Phil tapped his phone screen where he'd pulled up maps to emphasise his point.

Dan stared at him blankly, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay, you clearly didn't listen to a word I said, but that's fine because it just means this is all a surprise now. Come on.” Phil grabbed Dan by the arm and pulled him along to their first destination.

The town was admittedly quaint and, especially if the weather were more agreeable, very aesthetically pleasing. The cobbled stones and old buildings with a mix of ancient Roman and old English architecture made for some interesting photos of the streets. Phil made Dan stay still for multiple selfies, despite the weather. He was determined to get one acceptable shot that didn't make them look too much like drowned rats.

They found refuge inside a museum where Dan made the most out of trying to find weird faces in old paintings and moving from one heater to the next, while Phil attempted to read every piece of information. By the time the weather cleared enough for them to head out, Phil had learned a handful of new facts and acquired a leaflet with a walking tour of the town.

“Can we go to the pub? I could do with a drink.” Dan grumbled.

“Oh, good idea, on the way there we'll pass a bunch of really cool things. We can stop at all of them on the way and it'll be like a cool halfway point.”

Dan resisted letting out a groan and accepted his fate.

They ended up visiting some interesting locations, including an old Roman bath house, a bookshop so old that some of the books were kept in glass for their safety, a crumbling yet charming wishing well and another smaller museum about the local writers. Dan found himself soon enjoying the day, and even took a coin along with Phil to make silent wishes to the well.

They settled in the pub with drinks and toasted sandwiches while Phil counted up their money.

“We should be fine for one more activity and then we can grab dinner somewhere and head off.”

Dan nodded as he shoved the tweet cheesy goodness into his mouth. “Uhuh.”

“I think the castle is our best bet. It should take a few hours to do and there's like an underground museum attached to it. Then we can walk around and find somewhere nice and maybe grab a souvenir.”

“Hm.” Dan was trying not to eat the whole thing too fast, wanting to savour the delicious crunch.

“Dan?”

He looked up from his sandwich.

Phil barely suppressed a laugh. “You've got sauce all down your face! Here.” He grabbed a paper napkin and reached over the table to wipe Dan's chin.

“Wow, thanks mum,” Dan grumbled. “I'm not a baby.”

“So don't call me mum.”

“Thanks, daddy.”

“No. I hate that.”

They both laughed.

“But since you've been paying for most of this, doesn't this make you a bit like my sugar daddy?” Dan gestured at him with the crust of his sandwich.

“No! No it doesn't. Don't make it weird when I spend money on you.”

“You're the one going ham on these dates,” Dan joked.

“This isn't a date.”

“Good, it's terrible.”

Phil scrunched up the paper napkin and threw it at Dan's face.

They finished up and headed out towards the castle, both in good spirits. They reached the ticket booth and Phil took his wallet out to pay for tickets, then blinked. He patted his pockets down.

“What's wrong?” Dan asked with a frown.

“I... had some change. But now it's gone.” Phil kept patting himself down.

“Yeah, I saw it. In the pub.” Dan's brow furrowed.

“Ah, they say that place is haunted by old pick-pockets.” The toll booth lady said mysteriously.

“I got mugged by ghosts?”

“Could be.”

“I'll cover it.”Dan reached into his pocket and froze.

“Oh no, they didn't steal your wallet too, did they?”

“No, I realised I left it in the car.”

Phil sighed heavily. “Nevermind then.”

“I'll go get my wallet, it's fine.” Dan began to walk off, gesturing for Phil to join him.

Dan dug around for his wallet and eventually located it lodged beneath the passenger seat. The sky had begun to darken and the clouds draw in.

“Maybe we shouldn't bother.” Phil looked at the grey above them.

“No, no. Let's do it. Come on, you wanted to.”

“Hm. I have a bad feeling.”

Phil's feeling turned out to be right. As they neared the ticket booth, a large CLOSED sign stared back at them.

“What? Why didn't she tell us?” Dan huffed and kicked a stone across the ground.

“Ugh. Never mind. Let's just go.”

Dan glanced over to see Phil's dejected expression. He swallowed a pang of guilt, knowing Phil was doing his best to make it fun. “Hey, how about we go around the weird shops before they close and see who finds the most cursed thing?”

Phil smiled a little.

“You can fill me in on everything we're missing out on by just telling me what you learned about the place today.”

Phil brightened considerably as they headed out.

They eventually found a shop that sold exclusively creepy china dolls, and posed to take a selfie in front of the window. As Dan raised his phone, the low battery alert flashed, then it died.

“Huh?”

“Oh... We didn't plug our phones in on the way here.”

Dan stared at the dark screen, then at Phil. “I'm not hanging around with a dead phone.”

“Fair enough. Let's go back to the car.”

They huddled close to each other as the rain began once more and jogged to shelter and warmth.

 


	7. Like The Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you know someone who’s depressed, please resolve never to ask them why. Depression isn’t a straightforward response to a bad situation; depression just is, like the weather.  
> ― Stephen Fry

The gentle thrum of rain on the car blended with the soft acoustic music covers on the playlist, wrapping the two young men in a cozy haze of sound. The car drove along happily, the tank full and engine freshly checked for any issues. Despite the weather being so grey outside, a strange sense of peace had settled inside the car – Phil focused on his driving while Dan scribbled away in his new diary.

In an attempt to make it look more like a bullet journal, Dan had awkwardly lined out a castle wall with turrets. It looked like something he'd drawn as a child so he made an effort to thicken the lines in an attempt to make it look more bold and artistic. It only half worked. He'd seen some cool old fashioned illuminations on some of the store signs, but he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to execute it right, so just left some space before he started to write in case he ever came back to it.

 

_Day three of the road trip. I bought breakfast and we went sightseeing in some historical town with a name I can't spell._

_Phil is doing his best to make this very exciting, even though it's cold and wet all the time._

_The smaller the pub the better the sandwiches._

_Admittedly saw some really cool stuff that I will try to draw. There are photos of them too._

_Phone died because I forgot to charge it. It's plugged into the car now._

_Grey weather like my soul. I don't mind._

 

He wasn't delighted with his journal entries, but he felt the minimalistic approach was good enough for now. Besides, in retrospect things weren't as traumatic as they seemed. It was nice to go at it with an objective view. Besides, the day wasn't yet over, though he didn't imagine much else would happen other than them finding somewhere to stay for the night. He penned in a few quick sketches of the creepy china dolls and antiques he'd seen that day.

 

Phil frowned at the sat nav on his phone, not entirely convinced by the route. If they kept to the main roads they'd hit commuter travel halfway to their next destination. That fact alone could easily add an hour onto their journey, if not more. Phil's brow furrowed as he leaned in closer to the small screen, hoping to see an alternative route. He'd take anything to avoid the hell of being stuck in traffic.

His eyes caught a faint line that ran trough the map, almost in tangent to their current route but taking smaller roads. It technically was a longer route, but with the promise of oncoming traffic it would end up being quicker anyway. He silently made the decision to turn off the motorway and began the steady process of moving out of the lane.

Dan sat up as he noticed them pulling to a slip road. He glanced around for signs, wondering if they'd made faster distance than he'd thought. “Where are we going?”

“Shortcut,” Phil answered, sweating a little as he tried to remember the gear changes, “or a detour. I don't know.”

“You don't know?”

“I mean I don't know the word. It's a longer route but it will be quicker. This will keep us out of traffic.”

“Oh.” Dan settled down, satisfied with this explanation. “And you definitely won't get us lost?”

“We have satnav. We'll be fine.” Phil sounded more confident than he felt. He definitely relied on technology a little too much when it came to getting anywhere. He had no idea how people could just work out routes to places they'd never been.

Figuring it was best not to display any anxieties about his decision, Phil made a bold and confident turn onto the road as though he had done it a thousand times before and knew exactly where it went. This nearly caused a car to crash into him, having completely forgotten to turn on his indicator, but they survived with no collision of any kind.

Dan gave Phil a hollow stare as the car blared its horn furiously at them. Phil kept driving with a stained smile as though he hadn't noticed, despite the anxious sweat that had built on his brow. He gripped the wheel firmly and mentally berated himself for complete lack of driving skill. He'd have to focus more on the basics than his own self image. His grip on the wheel was uncomfortable stiff and damp.

They headed down the dual carriageway comfortably, Phil steadily relaxing, until the satnav instructed him to turn off the road again. They followed a one-way road with large hedges either side of it and no curb on the edge, and Phil had to make an active effort not to accidentally slide the wheels off the crumbling tarmac.

Dan eyed the nearing bush walls suspiciously.

A sharp turn from the road, nearly wedging them at the junction, lead them onto a flat mud road. The car bumped and rumbled as it went over rocks and through dips.

“Uh, are you sure this is the right way?” Dan asked.

“Yeah, I'm sure. Uh.” Phil glanced at the satnav that indicated they were in fact on the right route. “Yeah, yeah, we're fine.”

“I don't think we are.”

Phil glanced up to see what Dan meant just as they reached a long stretch of muddy road. The rain had obviously done the most damage here, and by the looks of it a drain had flooded and soaked the ground. The car's front wheels immediately sank into the ground beneath it, forcing it to a halt.

“Uh oh.”

“Bit of an understatement, Phil.”

“Don't worry, don't worry, I've got it.” Phil pushed down on the peddle in an attempt to drive out. The wheel spun helplessly. “It's fine, it's fine.” He attempted to reverse the car and met the same resistance.

Dan waited patiently as Phil strained to make the car drive out of the muddy dip.

“Phil.”

“I can do it, I can do it.”

“Phil-”

“It's fine, it's fine!”

Dan heaved a slow sigh. “It's not going to budge.”

The older let out a long, resigned groan and dropped his head to the wheel. “Now what?”

“I guess we have to... Push it?”

They both cringed at the thought, but with no other option they got out of the car. They took turns to push the back while the other pulled from the front doors, leading it to dry ground. It was a slow, painful, and muddy experience.

They paused briefly when the front wheels had been freed, but the back wheels were now sunk into the freshly angled earth. They both crouched and waited to catch their breaths, covered up to the waist in dirt and their whole bodies soaking with rain. After some time they began the struggle once more, slowly inching the car free from the soggy ground.

After what seemed hours the car was eventually pulled to somewhat dry road, the wheels thick with earth. They both scraped what they could from the car body, not wanting it to clog up and cause problems. By the end of it they were both completely brown and wet with mud, stinking.

They made a poor, tired attempt to wipe themselves clean and use the rain to wash the mess off, but it didn't do enough. Eventually they gave in and crawled back into the car, sitting on their coats to prevent more mud spreading around.

Exhausted, Dan put pen to diary once more.

 

_When will we have one good car journey?_

 

He added a doodle of the car in the mud. It was bad.

He leaned against the window and silently screamed.

 


	8. Woke Up Into A Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that's really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you're so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.  
> ― Ned Vizzini,

The sun steadily withdrew, tucking itself behind the folds of hills and the prickles of trees. The orange sunset was wrapped and faded beneath an even cover of cloud, like glass fogged with breath. The low light stretched the shadows, casting them into darkness, until soon everything was submerged in darkness. The sky turned dark and a hazy moon gazed down at them, a steady watchful eye, neither malicious nor benevolent.

Phil's own eyes stung. He yawned, briefly pulling a hand from the wheel to cover his mouth. At his side Dan was dozing against the window. They'd hit a jam a short while back and been sat like tree trunks, gathering cobwebs. Now, though the road was clear, Phil was nervous about his limited visibility.

Not to mention how much pushing a whole car had worn him down.

He couldn't even see a sign for a services – not that they really had the money to crash at another one. He'd hoped to arrive at their next destination by now and checked into another B&B, but it just wasn't looking in their favour. Judging by the satnav it would take another hour or so for them to arrive, and he wasn't sure he could stay awake that long. He was actually starting to feel nauseous with exhaustion.

A rather alarming orange sign sailed past reading TIREDNESS KILLS.

Bit morbid, he thought. It wasn't like drink driving, which really was dangerous and actually did kill. All tiredness did was make him a bit grumpy and maybe slow his reactions a bit – not like he was The Flash on a regular day. Tiredness hardly killed, it just inconvenienced.

Very suddenly his ears were blasted with a loud horn and his eyes blinded by bright light.

“Phil!” He heard Dan shout, before the wheel was yanked beneath his hands.

The car jerked to the side, back onto the road. Phil fumbled to regain control, straightening them out on their own side of the dual carriageway. He was drenched in sweat, heart exploding in his ears. Dan was saying something but he couldn't hear. He was starting to feel faint.

Dan's fingers clicked in front of his face.

“Hey! Phil! Pull over!” Dan's voice sounded like it was coming from miles away.

He didn't ask, he just numbly did as he was told and pulled the car to a stop in the lay-by. The car settled down and turned off.

The initial shock was starting to fade and the world settled down. Dan was speaking.

“...Seriously could have got us both killed. Are you listening, Phil?”

He turned his head mechanically to look at the younger man.

He must have looked as bad as he felt, because Dan's tense, furious expression softened and he said, “You look like shit.”

He nodded.

“Just- just take a nap or something. You can't keep driving like this.”

He half wanted to argue against it and get them at least to somewhere with a bed, but Dan had a point. The adrenaline was wearing off and his body ached, muscles he didn't even know he had crying out for rest. Despite himself, a yawn forced its way out of him once more.

His memory was a little hazy after that, but he eventually settled against his window to sleep. It was cramped in the car and very uncomfortable, and the occasional passing vehicle was loud and bright and woke them. Settling down in a cozy enough position was nearly impossible sometimes, and for the most part they were pressed against eachother, seeking warmth.

Phil woke as the sun spilled light through the windows, blinking blindly. His glasses had fallen off his face. He pawed around, confused for a long moment as to his surroundings. He found his glasses in the footwell, knocking his head against the wheel as he reached down, and elbowed Dan in the chest as he straightened back up. There was a general grumbling of discomfort as they detangled from each other and attempted to wake up enough to work out what to do next. Phil wound down the windows to let in clean air, hoping it would work in place of a coffee. They both sat in silence for some time, letting the cool air soak into their lungs.

The more he woke up the more Phil realised he had aches and pains all over his body. There was a distinct crick in his neck that he'd need to stretch out as soon as he had the chance. His knees were seized up and shins definitely bruised. Half of Dan's face was pink and wrinkled from lying against Phil's shoulder and pressing into the fabric of his coat. A glance at the rear-view mirror told him he was in a similar situation.

With nothing else to do, Phil rubbed his face and drove them onwards to their next destination.

 

It was admittedly a very nice coastal town with a lot of tourist activity. The pair of them would probably have really appreciated the fresh sea-wind and beachy feeling if either of them was awake enough. They bought hot drinks from the first place they saw and sat on the harbour sipping the bitter, watery mix from the cheap paper cups. Their bags sat at their feet.

It was a fairly quiet day in the town. The sun had come out and sparkled on the sea. Some of the tourist attractions played cheerful music, muffled by the breathing of the tide. Seagulls cried overhead, but none came close – too busy searching for dropped food.

Dan leaned against Phil's shoulder, still tired.

Phil felt his eyelids droop.

 

Something poked him. He shifted uncomfortably. It poked him again. He flicked his hand, the back of it making contact with something feathery. A piercing yell filled his ear, followed by flapping. He blinked blearily, confused and startled, to see a rather irritably seagull fly away. He scrunched his nose in distaste and sat up, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. He must've dozed off a second.

Dan was steadily waking up next to him.

He gave him a sleepy hum and reached down to grab their bag, hoping to find a snack inside.

His hand groped at thin air.

He looked down and blinked a few times. No bag. He looked under the bench. No bag. He looked either side of him and Dan. No bag.

Confused, he looked around the fairly busy harbor. The sun was higher than before and the air warm. He checked his watch and felt his heart jump to his throat – they'd been asleep for over an hour!

Dan grumbled, sleepy and confused, “What's going on?”

“I-” Phil's voice caught. “I- I think out bags got stolen.”

Dan sat up now, alert. “Stolen?”

“They're gone- and- and it's been over an hour- and-” He waved his hands, standing up as though this would help.

“Shit.” Dan breathed out. “What do we do?”

Phil's single sense of basic functioning kicked in. “We have to call the police. We have to report this.”

Dan nodded, numbly knowing this was the only option.

Phil made the phonecall, voice shaking, and faster than he expected they were greeted by two officers who took down all the details. Nothing could immediately be done, really, just generally asking around and investigating. The officers warned them about unsafe travel practices and they begrudgingly nodded and said they'd take care in the future.

The day that should have been used to wander around tourist hotspots and sample sweets and enjoy the sea was instead spent stopping at every business along the street and asking if they had seen anything. No one had any information, as plenty of people had passed through, but said any CCTV footage they might have could be passed to the police. They tried describing the bags to see if anyone had seen anything like it, but as expected no one was paying attention to what luggage tourists were carrying. Some offered rather unhelpful advice to protect their belongings in future. Neither Dan nor Phil cared much about the future when the present was much more pressing.

Several hours of this turned up nothing.

Dan's mood took an obvious dip.

They stopped for lunch in a place that felt cozy and nice, and Phil – feeling responsible for the mess – paid for everything. Despite the comfortable chairs and delicious food, both of them felt strangely hollow.

Phil excused himself to the bathroom.

His hands shook under the cold trickle of water. He was thankful that it was a single person cubicle - he'd hate to be seen looking so fragile. He didn't understand how Dan was so open about things in his videos. He couldn't stand the thought of people seeing him anything other than his usual self.

Water dripped off his face into the sink. He blinked and turned the tap off, thinking water had sprayed up. Droplets continued to fall down onto his hands. He looked at his face in the dirty mirror to discover he was crying.

It was this knowledge that pushed him over the edge.

He gripped the sink basin as the intense emotion washed through him. Tears spilled down his face and his chest heaved as his breath caught and shuddered. Burning crawled up his throat and stung his eyes. With nothing else to do he put a hand to his face and quietly sobbed.

 

_It's a good thing I kept this diary in my pocket, or you would be lost._

_It's been a bad day, lads._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late I've been busy.  
> 


	9. Wounds that Never Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.   
> ― Laurell K. Hamilton

Their belongings weren't located. Police told them it could take days or even weeks to find anything. Worst case scenario nothing was ever found or returned. They would be contacted with any details.

They had no clothes, no toiletries, no chargers... All they had were what they'd stuffed in their pockets. They were at least lucky to still have their wallets and phones. No matter how they looked at it, the road trip had come to its screeching end. All that was left to do was to just get back in the car and go home.

Phil wasn't sure why he'd dragged Dan out in the first place.

He wasn't sure what he expected from this journey. Sunny sightseeing? Collecting stupid knick-knacks and souvenirs? Getting Dan to enjoy life again? To smile? To laugh? Stupid, wishful thinking, evidently. Every step of the way had been a disaster. He wouldn't be shocked if Dan was more miserable than ever.

Phil's low mood radiated off him, and Dan couldn't help feeling the wrongness of it. It wasn't that Phil never got upset or frustrated, but more that it was never this bad. Which made sense because this time it was a particularly difficult situation. He could see the red puffiness around Phil's eyes and the lines down his face, and felt something nauseous bubble inside him. What could he say, though? What would piece this situation back together? He chewed his tongue and hoped things would resolve over the journey home.

 

Charts music played endlessly, punctuated now and then by a monotone DJ and the occasional advert. Phil's knuckles were white on the wheel. Neither of them spoke a word. Dan fiddled with the corners of his diary, staring out at the road. He knew all this had been to make him feel better, ad somehow it had turned out that Phil was the one feeling worse for wear.

What could he say?

 

The low petrol sign lit up, shining bright in the dimming light. Phil stared at it, as though disbelieving it, until he reasoned how far they had driven since the last time. He took a heavy breath and adjusted his grip on the wheel, resisting the urge to hit it. Obviously they wouldn't get all the way back to London without some sort of problem. Obviously. How stupid he'd been to hope that.

Dan eyed him nervously.

He didn't say anything and instead pulled the car into the next lane, waiting for a chance to reach a petrol station. He didn't want to hang around – now that they were on the way back he just wanted to get back to the flat and die.

Wasn't often he felt the way Dan did.

They pulled into a small station and Phil got out to handle the pumps. Dan took the opportunity to excuse himself off to the bathroom, slinking away like a startled cat. Phil couldn't blame him – he was hardly making it an easy journey home. He filled the tank as much as he could afford, then stepped inside to pay. He spotted Dan in the queue in front of him and decided not to ask. Probably a good idea to buy some food, honestly. He grabbed himself a sandwich and a fruit bar.

By the time he was back in the car, Dan had already started sorting out his drink and pasta pot,and was ripping open a cardboard box. Phil was about to start the car when the younger poked his shoulder. He turned to see Dan with a stick of Mikado in his mouth, the packet open. Phil reached out to take one, but Dan pulled the box away and wiggled the stick in his face.

Phil raised his eyebrows.

Dan wiggled the stick.

A smile pulled at his lips and he leaned in, taking the other end in his mouth. Satisfied with his success, Dan began to bite away at the stick. Phil managed three bites before he was cringing away from Dan's rapid approach, a weak giggle escaping him.

“I thought you were about to bite me.” His voice was weak, but there was at least the hint of a smile on his face.

“I take no prisoners in victory.” Dan gave him a satisfied grin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's a short chapter again, I've got a lot going on!


End file.
